A Seat
at the
Table

The early work was black and white. That was not a stylistic choice. It was the only honest thing he could make. Black and white is what it looks like when you are holding everything in. For years, while the work was showing, the harder work was happening: four years of therapy, the kind that strips everything down before it builds anything back up.

The color arrived when the weight lifted. Not all at once. Slowly, then undeniably. Magenta. Cobalt. Coral. Rose. Each painting marks a moment in that progression, a record of what it feels like when the body finally starts to let go of what it has been carrying.

A Seat at the Table brings together both bodies of work for the first time. The black and white pieces that recorded the years of difficulty. The color works that record what came after. The show moves through the full arc: underwater, collapsed, the bridge piece with the red towel, and finally, the empty chair, waiting. It is not a retrospective. It is a reckoning.

The title says what needs to be said. He has arrived. And he has earned his place at it.